“No, it’s not drugs.” Opening the bag, I let him look inside. “It’s a fish sandwich, for Cooper.”
“Gotcha,” he says, grabbing the bag out of my hand. “No problem-o. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Thanks so much,” I tell him with a smile, heading back toward the elevator.
Problem solved! Three smelly seafood deliveries, and I didn’t have to take any of them in the elevator with me. I would call that a very productive day. And yes, I’m aware of the sadness of that statement.
As soon as I make it back to my floor, I march past Dina and into my office, beginning to fiddle with some paperwork that Cooper left on my desk. It’s not very often that he gives me actual work to do, but today is the exception. If I didn’t have to deal with all the errands and nonsense, it would probably last a good hour and a half. That’s more than I do in some weeks, really, if you don’t count all the extra tasks I create for myself.
Nearly twenty minutes later, I hear humming and the door to my office swings open.
“Your sandwich,” Greg announces, handing me the brown bag.
“Thank you,” I state as he continues his way down the hall. Ignoring the glare that I’m receiving from across the way, I immediately cross to the other side of my office and knock, opening the door to Cooper’s office.
“What is it?” he wonders.
“They sent you a make-up sandwich,” I tell him, delivering it to his desk. He nods and returns to what he’s doing as I hurriedly leave the room. While I’m securing the interconnecting door between our offices, I notice that my door to the hallway is creeping ajar.
“Dina,” I assess when I see her head poke around the door.
She steps into my office and shuts the door behind her, leaning against it with her arms folded across her chest. “Young lady, I think it’s high time that you admit that you have a problem.”
I fight the urge to laugh for a minute. It’s quite the sight, Dina standing there in her blue wool suit, glasses toward the end of her nose, tapping her little high-heeled shoes on my carpet. She doesn’t make an intimidating figure at all—sort of like when you pass one of those Chihuahuas that growls. Sure, it might attack you, but how much harm is it really going to do?
“There’s no problem,” I sigh. I’m getting really tired of this conversation topic. First I had to go through it constantly with Mom, and now I’m getting the same interrogations at the office. When is this garbage going to end?
“Normal people do not eat as much as you do,” she goes on, foot still tapping.
“Don’t eat as much… All I had for lunch was a fruit salad.”
“You’ve had three food deliveries this afternoon.”
“All for Cooper.”
“I know as well as anyone that Mr. Cooper has a hearty appetite, but I have never seen the man eat three meals in one afternoon.”
“That’s because he didn’t really eat all three meals. The first one was—”
“Oh, I’m sure you have an excellent excuse. You need help. Serious help. You’re a very sick girl.”
“Thank you for the observation,” I mutter, sitting down and returning to my paperwork.
“Don’t think I’m going to let this go so easily,” she states, exiting the room.
Naturally, I’m sure I won’t be that lucky.
Ding-dong.
I’m completely exhausted, seriously.
“You rang?” I ask at Cooper’s door.
“The sandwich is better,” he bellows, “but I can’t eat it. I’m just not hungry. Here—take it with you.”
The next morning, as I arrive on the top floor, Dina merely glances up for a second before she returns to her work. Normally I wouldn’t find that odd, but the way she’s been intensely watching me lately, it seems out of character. Not that it’s a bad thing; quite the opposite, really. Maybe she will be leaving me alone for a little while and giving me some room to breathe.
I take a moment to listen to my voice mail messages—two about the revamped version of Project Cooper and one from Katie, who wanted to know if I needed a dead carp for my seafood museum. Before I get a chance to call her back and tell her she is decidedly unfunny, Cooper calls me into his office. I march across his thick blue carpet, notepad in hand, ready to write down the next errand of the day. Instead, he motions for me to sit.
“Maddie,” he begins with a sigh, “it has come to my attention that there might be a problem.”
“Problem?” I manage. “What sort of problem?” Not a problem with Project Cooper, I hope. Everything has been going well to this point.
“A health issue.”
Cooper’s sick? He’s probably got salmonella from eating all those raw eggs. Or, maybe it was that fish sandwich yesterday…the one he thought didn’t taste right. Goodness knows I am aware of the problems that can cause.
“Okay,” I mutter, unsure of how to respond.
“Health and wellness are very important to me. I’m sure you can understand.”
“Of course.”
The poor man is going to have a mental breakdown. He’s so focused on his vitamins and supplements and all that business, and now he has a serious medical problem. I won’t be surprised if he’s driven into a deep depression, desperately needing someone to care for him at all times. I’m not sure his plastic wife will be up to the job.
“So I called some representatives for our health insurance company, and they highly recommend a local counselor—some woman named Ling.”
So he does recognize the potential for his depression. He must, anyway, if he’s considering going to a counselor. Wow, I can’t imagine what that session would be like, delving into the mind of Kent Cooper. It could be a decade-long process.
“Anyway,” he continues with a wave of the hand, “I went ahead and scheduled the appointment for next week. You will see this woman Ling at 2:00 on Thursday.”
Huh? Maybe he doesn’t realize that one doesn’t send an assistant to their counseling appointment.
“Me?” I ask cautiously, not wanting to anger him.
“Yes, at 2:00 on Thursday.”
“I’m sorry,” I reply hesitantly. “I’m still not sure why you want me to go to the counseling.”
“You expect someone to go in your place?” He gives me a very pointed look.
Yes—you! You’re the one with the problem, apparently. Why should I have to go to your counseling session?
“This is just a little too confusing for me,” I mutter, looking down at the floor. I’m slightly afraid that his mind is fuzzy, or he is in denial about the problem, but I don’t know what to say.
“It’s high time you get help for this problem,” he insists, smacking the side of his hand against the desk for emphasis. “I can’t have you unhealthy.”
Me get help? I thought we were talking about Cooper. How did the tables turn so quickly?
“What problem are you referring to, sir?” I ask, looking earnestly into his face. The poor man really is severely, painfully confused.
“The eating disorder, what else? I know all about it.”
Of course, the eating disorder. Dina. She has now earned a place in the fist-clench hall of fame. Newman. Brittany. Cooper. Dina. How dare she tell Cooper about that nonsense! If my mom hadn’t invented that ridiculous garbage in the first place…
“This is all a big mistake,” I explain. “I don’t have an eating disorder.”
“Maddie, you can’t hide things forever. I know all about the vomiting, and the secrecy, and the food smuggling. Did you think no one would notice?”
Food smuggling, indeed. Those were his own fish sandwiches! Really, what am I supposed to say? Without a logical explanation for the fact that I have a weak stomach, I absolutely feel like I’m being backed into a corner. Any effective argument evading me for the moment, I manage to do nothing but sit here staring stupidly at Cooper behind his gigantic desk.
“So, you will go to the counseling on Thursday, and we’ll get thing
s back on track.” He picks up some paperwork on his desk and begins perusing it, and I’m aware that he is giving me the signal that we’re finished. I somehow manage to pry my deflated body from the blue leather chair and make my way back to my office. How could one silly incorrect assumption have infiltrated this deeply into my life?
And what am I going to tell a counselor? I can only imagine how that session will go.
“You’re Maddie?” she’ll say. “My name is Ling. We’re here today to talk about your bulimia.”
“See, that’s the thing,” I’ll reply. “I don’t actually have bulimia.”
“Uh-huh,” she’ll continue, nodding as she writes in her black notebook. “What’s the problem then?”
“I don’t have a problem.” She’ll flip out her little handheld recorder and begin talking quietly, her back turned toward me.
“The subject is hesitant to admit a problem,” she’ll report. “Looks like a clear-cut case of denial.”
“Now wait a minute,” I’ll retort. “I’m not in denial.”
“You deny having an eating disorder?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are in denial.” She will lean toward her recorder again. “Note—the subject is rather hostile when the issue of denial is approached. The damage must go deeper than previously believed.”
“It’s only denial when you have a problem,” I’ll try to explain, “but I don’t have a problem, so it can’t be denial. If I deny having a problem, that’s because it’s a fact. I. Do. Not. Have. A. Problem.”
“The subject is openly antagonistic regarding the entire topic of denial,” she’ll tell the recorder. “Looks like this could take several sessions, possibly involving an entire team.”
No good can come of this. Why does everyone have to keep messing up my life?
Walking to the door, I open it a crack. “Thanks a lot, Dina,” I say just loud enough that she can hear. I notice her back tighten, but she keeps her head down.
After days of intense scrutiny, suddenly Dina literally can’t manage to keep her eyes on me.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It would occur to me, if Cooper is really bothered by the idea of me throwing up, that he would not slurp his raw eggs in my presence. Also, that he would not bring me a tray full of dirty dishes with what appeared to be the remnants of salmon and creamed spinach. I can only imagine what the cafeteria thought when I called them to pick up the dishes. That little diva can’t even bring dirty dishes down here by herself. She has to call us up to the top floor in our hairnets like her servants to pick up the big dog’s plates.
Normally I would never do something like that, of course, but under the circumstances, I had no choice. Any possible instance where I might be grossed out is something I am avoiding like the plague, for obvious reasons.
I took a moment last night to call my mother and thank her for her part in my sordid office charade.
“Mom, it’s Maddie,” I stated.
“Oh,” she replied. That’s the welcome reception I get when I call my mother—Oh.
“Just thought I’d call and let you know what’s going on at work,” I said nonchalantly, wondering how she might respond.
“Really? Are you working on another special project that you want me to know about?”
As if I would invite her if I was.
“No, no, nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?” she asked rather abruptly, as though the mere sound of my voice was interrupting her busy life.
“My boss has taken the liberty of making an appointment for me on Thursday, and I just wanted to thank you.”
“Oh, well then,” she said, voice brightening a little. “What kind of appointment?”
“An appointment with a counselor.”
“A counselor? Like a career counselor or something?”
“No,” I said pointedly. “I have an appointment with a counselor because my boss believes I have an eating disorder.”
For a moment, I only hear silence on the other end of the line, and then a faint, “Oh.”
“Don’t you wonder why he would think that, Mom?”
“I don’t know…” she muttered, pausing a moment. “Maybe because you’re getting so skinny?”
“Care to take another guess?”
“I just don’t know, honey. I don’t know why he would think that.”
“I don’t either. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and the only person around me who would have told him that was my coworker, Dina. She wouldn’t have any reason to think I have an eating disorder, though.”
“Well, of course not,” Mom said, her voice rising a little higher than normal. “How would she get such a notion?”
“I don’t know anyone who would tell her such a thing,” I lied, awaiting her response. No way can she talk her way out of this one.
“No…no,” she mumbled.
“You’ve never talked to Dina, have you?”
“Well, now, I don’t know. She might have answered the phone before when you weren’t there. I can’t remember all those peoples’ names.”
“No, I don’t expect you to remember the names of everyone in my office. I would think, though, that once you have a lengthy conversation with someone, you would at least remember talking to them.”
“And I’m sure I would.”
“I would think you would remember telling them that you believe I’m bulimic and they should keep a watchful eye on me.”
“Yes, of course I’d remember that.”
“And yet you don’t remember talking to Dina,” I added, becoming exasperated with her game.
“No, I don’t remember any Dina.”
“I hope you realize I could get fired over this.”
“Really?” she squeaked.
Well, no, I sincerely hope not, but she should have thought of that before she opened her big mouth!
“Yes, really. If that happens, you’re the first person I’m coming to for money.”
“Oh, but Maddie, I—”
“Gotta run, Mom!” I said, hanging up the phone.
Calling my mother only succeeded in making me angrier after phoning, which I instinctively knew would happen. I guess I just wanted her to know what kind of mess one little white lie could create. Not even a white lie, really, but more along the lines of an unfounded rumor. In any case, she started it, and now I’m doomed to go to counseling. If this mix-up continues, and the counselor really does give me a hard time, maybe I can convince her that Mom needs to go to the sessions with me, as the cause of my problems. I wonder how she would like that!
The date for Project Cooper is rapidly approaching, and so far I’ve managed to keep it tightly under wraps while organizing quite an event. Cooper has allowed me to ask a few other members of the staff for assistance, and they’ve been invaluable to me. I may consider myself brilliant at times, but I most definitely don’t know everything.
Part of me wonders how Audrey is going to take the surprise. I don’t know how she’s doing right now, since I’ve only seen her in passing a couple of times, and I haven’t had the chance to speak to her. Honestly, I’m not certain she would speak to me anyway, since she still believes I did something to intentionally hurt her. Each time I ask Cooper about her, he insists she’s fine, so it’s a waste of time to even bother him.
Katie told me that Audrey trained in her department for a couple of days, just getting a feel for how everything worked. When I asked how she seemed to be doing, Katie said she wasn’t overly friendly, but she didn’t seem too depressed. Maybe she took things better than I thought she would, and it’s doing her a world of good simply to be away from me. It would be a little depressing, after all, to have to sit all day and stare at the person who was recently planning your failed wedding. That would probably be enough to send any sane person into depression.
Picking up the phone, I dial the numbers I wrote down this morning to make the call I’ve been dreading all day. Not only am I exp
ecting the conversation not to be pleasant, but truthfully, I am anticipating disaster. I am determined, however, to make Project Cooper a dazzling success, and this is an integral part of that mission.
“You have reached Channel Six Action News,” a friendly voice states. “How may I direct your call?”
“Harley Laine, please,” I request, clearing my throat. Part of me can’t believe I’m doing this.
“May I say who’s calling?” the voice asks.
“I’m a representative of Cooper Corporate Financial, and I have some information about a top-secret event that will be attended by the foremost members of the community. I thought she might be interested in the story.”
“Thank you. One moment please.”
Elevator music. You know, it’s hard enough to sit on hold, but then they play that very soft easy-listening music that makes you sleepy almost immediately.
“Harley Laine,” I hear her chirpy voice state into the receiver.
“Hi, Harley. I’m calling from Cooper Corporate Financial, and I have some information about a top-secret event that is going to take place on February 24th. Most of the important individuals in the community will be there, and I thought you might want the scoop.”
“Sounds interesting,” she says. “Let me write down all the information. What did you say your name was?”
“Madeline,” I reply.
“Madeline…”
“Heard.”
“Your name sounds familiar. Have we met before?”
“Yes, a couple times.” I hesitate, hoping nothing jogs her memory.
“Madeline from Cooper Corporate,” she repeats with a slight laugh. “Yeah, I remember you.”
Here it comes. She’s going to rip me apart.
“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened at the shelter,” I tell her. “The lady I was defending happens to be my mother, who is a huge fan of yours and was totally miffed at me afterwards.”
“That about figures,” she replies, growing silent for a second. “You live on my street, don’t you? I’ve seen you jogging.”
“Yeah.”
This isn’t what I expected. I have the video of her freaking out on my computer, where I’d downloaded it from Audrey’s phone a long time ago. That’s the card I was carrying in my hip pocket, in case she refused, but she seems like she’s actually trying to be…nice?
Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1) Page 31
